Ramiro entered, his men behind him, his face alit with eagerness. There and then I swamped his hopes.
“The sun is gone, Magnificent,” said I. “You had best get me hanged.”
His brow darkened, for there was a note of mockery and triumph in my voice.
“You have fooled me, animal,” he cried. His jaw set, and his eyes continued to regard me with an evil glow. Then he laughed terribly, shrugged his shoulders, and spoke again. “After all, it shall avail you little.” He turned to the carnifex. “Federigo, do your work,” said he, whereupon the fellow stepped behind me, and the halberdiers ranged themselves one on either side of me again.
“A word ere I go, Messer del’ Orca,” I demanded insolently.
He looked at me sharply, wondering, maybe, at the fresh tone I took.
“Say it and begone,” he sullenly permitted me.
I paused a moment to choose fitting words for that portentous death-song of mine. At length—
“You boasted to me a little while ago,” said I, smiling grimly, “that the man did not live who had thrice fooled you. That man does live, for that man am I.”
“Bah!” he returned contemptuously, thinking, no doubt, that I referred to my interview with Madonna Paola. “You may take what pride you will from such a thought. You are upon the threshold of death.”